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Compassion is difficult to give away because it keeps coming back.
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You slowly open the sagging door, generating an ear-piercing screech from the complaining, unoiled hinges. The refrigerator is empty save for a few cardboard containers. Obviously the rats have beaten you to the food.
Suddenly, without any warning, the door hinges surrender their desperate struggle to support the door. With an reverberating crash, the door - followed by the refrigerator - falls toward you.
You leap back quickly, almost tripping in your haste to avoid being hurt. You stumble in the darkness and wind up on your back, staring at the moonlit ceiling, as dust from the crash slowly settles over your exhausted body.
The dining room is a testament to wasted splendor.